


Who is More Broken?

by LittleLalaith



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Needs Repairs, Depressed Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson Swears, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-10-23 01:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17673968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLalaith/pseuds/LittleLalaith
Summary: It had all started with the AV500 that ran the front desk. Hank had never exactly been keen on the plastic self-service machines, but he’d been a dab had with car repairs back in the day, so he’d been tasked with fixing the damn thing when it was damaged. Truth be told, he actually found the task kind of relaxing - it helped him to firmly place the androids in his mind as machines, parts and processes that could be broken and repaired.That is... until he starts working on an android who seems more human than anything Hank has ever known. Maybe he still has a lot to learn...





	1. Routine Proceedure

Hank looked at the broken remains of the prototype android that was sprawled out on the sidewalk, assessing the likelihood of getting it operational again; after the fall from the penthouse, the back and most of the chest plate were completely shattered (and perfectly visible, what with the skin display being deactivated by the impact); critical damage to the back of the skull and most of the components inside; one optical component was completely mangled, as well as substantial damage to the thirium system. In short, this thing wasn’t worth Cyberlife collecting it for repairs; it would be cheaper for them to transfer the programming into an entirely new RK800 vessel. It was fairly common procedure for Cyberlife, choosing time and costs over any real effort to salvage the droids they created. Which was how Hank had ended up with this little hobby in the first place…

“What do you reckon, Hank? Too much damage?” Collins asked, looking down at the machine. 

“I dunno, depends on how easily I can find replacement parts. It’s a prototype right?” he mused, scratching at his jaw absently. 

“Yeah, but it’s part of the RK series. Might be able to jury-rig it with RK200 parts.”

Hank nodded slightly and crouched beside it, testing how much of it would fall off if he tried to move it. He was surprised to find that it lifted more or less intact. The chassis and body plates were a mass of spiderweb cracks and loosely secured components, but it wasn’t spilling wires and hardware onto the sidewalk. That was a good sign. Granted, the right leg fell clean off but that could be fixed easily enough. “Fuck it, I need something to keep me busy. Repairs on those APs is getting to be a pain in the ass,” he grumbled, carrying the remains of the android to the boot of his car - it wasn’t stealing, Cyberlife had released the parts for disposal so Hank saw it as community service. Reduce, reuse, recycle… 

It had all started with the AV500 that ran the front desk. Hank had never exactly been keen on the plastic self-service machines, but he’d been a dab had with car repairs back in the day, so he’d been tasked with fixing the damn thing when it was damaged by a detainee who was trying to make an escape. Truth be told, he actually found the task kind of relaxing - it helped him to firmly place the androids in his mind as machines, parts and processes that could be broken and repaired. Besides, he had enjoyed the opportunity to learn something new; his engagement in his work had been running stale after so many years on the force. When the AV500 was up and running, he had worked on one of the AP700 units that kept the precinct clean. Then, it had been a logical step for him to be consulted about repairing androids that had been damaged during pursuit, or repairing units enough that their software team could extract information. He didn’t really have a clue about the coding and software side of it, but he could get the mechanical parts working. So that was a start…

“Send me the information we’ve got on the system, I’ll see what I can do,” Hank called to Collins before slipping into the driver’s seat of his old Ford (it was one of the few cars left in the precinct car lot that still used manual drive, and he wouldn’t have it any other way).  
Once he reached the house, Hank carefully lifted the main body of the android out of the boot and carried it through to the workshop he’d built in his basement. It wasn’t the most modern set up, but it worked for his purposes and it kept him out of the liquor cabinet for a while. 

Setting out the numerous elements in their respective places, he took stock of the whole picture and tried to get a sense of where he should start. It was a tight competition between the shattered skull-plate and the leaking thirium system… but he supposed it would be best t save as much thirium as he could, then he could get the damn thing up and moving before he started on the cosmetic stuff. There was a routine to his work, a habit he’d developed over time; he liked to get the androids activated and alert as quickly as possible, so that he could be sure they were salvageable and also to get some feedback on any damage he hadn’t spotted. Since androids didn’t feel pain, it was easier and faster to get them fixed if he could get their input, provided they weren’t too distressed. Still, the android wouldn’t be able to stay alert for long if it was leaking blue blood - and he didn’t want to risk Sumo getting down here and licking the damn stuff off the floor. Hank sighed and rolled up his sleeves, getting to work on the leak, securing any cracks in the distribution system and reconnecting the tubing where it had broken loose. 

By the time the thirium system was fixed and the android had been maneuvered into a semi-seated position so that Hank could start work on the cranial wiring, it was long past midnight. He had been tempted to keep working, not feeling too keen on lying in a room by himself and hoping that sleep visited… but Sumo was whining at the door and he had work the next day, so he reluctantly called it a night. 

“Alright… we’ll get you up and talking tomorrow,” he murmured, taking a moment to look at the Cyberlife jacket the machine had been wearing. “Connor….”


	2. More Than Hank Bargained For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe waking up the RK800 was a mistake...

Some days, Hank wished he could afford to quit his job and live off whatever pocket change he could get for the androids he repaired - today had been one of those days. Between Fowler riding his ass about some reports he’d forgotten to fill out, Reed getting on his last nerve during an interrogation and the malfunctioning coffee machine that had filled his mug with coffee grounds and waste water rather than his usual black coffee with sugar, he was just about ready to give up and resign himself to being one of the ever increasing percentage of unemployed. 

Jimmy’s had helped; he’d bought a few rounds, hidden himself away in the back booth until he could unclench his jaw a little and the tension in his broad shoulders eased away under the gentle hands of the whiskey. It wasn’t until he got home and found Sumo scratching at the basement door that he remembered the android.

“Ah… shit,” he grumbled, walking over and petting the giant dog affectionately. “Nothing down there for you. Go on, in your bed. Good boy…”

Wiring would be tricky with the whiskey in his system, but he didn’t feel too shaky just yet. He could either continue working on the android and gradually sober up… or he could keep himself busy with a fresh bottle of the stuff and a rerun of whatever was on tv. He supposed he should probably avoid that last one, though it was a tempting idea. 

Setting up his tools and a comfortable stool beside the worktop, Hank took stock of the mess that had once been this android’s wiring. The skull-plate had taken most of the damage, but most of the wires had been knocked loose or their plugs had snapped in the sockets. He worked carefully, waiting for his hands to steady with the out-breath before pressing needle-nosed tweezers into the socket to pry the remnants free. The good thing with this kind of close-up work was that it kept him focused, not giving him any room to think of anything else; not about his empty house, not about the whiskey upstairs, not about his ex-wife, not Cole… It was just him, working on an android in his basement, carefully pulling loose the shrapnel and rewiring broken elements. He must have been at it for hours, the warm comforting booze blanket having lifted completely away by the time he resecured the last wire. 

There was a mechanical whirring as the processors clicked back into motion, powering up the android’s other functions. While it was booting up, Hank moved it back into a seated position, doing his best not to disturb the fragile fractures and breaks. He got the android settled against the elevated rest and sat back, waiting for it to register his presence. More often that not, there was a moment of shock or confusion, then realisation and thanks, then finally he could figure out which problems needed his attention first. Only… this time was different. 

The RK800 blinked awake and met Hank’s gaze, impossibly deep brown eyes wasting no time in locking on. “Is the girl ok? I didn’t see her fall, but I didn’t have time to calculate whether she had been shot.”

The droid’s voice was soft and eloquent, not marred by any discernible accent, but there was a trace of urgency in his tone. Hank scoffed slightly and leaned closer, waiting for the android to realise what kind of state it was in… only the realisation never came. Or, more accurately, the usual shock that accompanied it never came. The android attempted to move, with little result except for an audible crunch where the plating threatened to splinter even further, and then the android simply looked to him for an answer. Not so much as a glance at its broken vessel. Well… fancy that…

“The girl that was held hostage? I don’t know, I didn’t work the case. But Collins didn’t mention a kid getting shot,” Hank answered, watching the android carefully. “Can’t say much about the state you’re in though.”

Finally, the android looked away and took stock of his injuries, expression eerily neutral. If ever there was a confirmation that these things weren’t human, Hank was looking at it. “It’s about as bad as I predicted. Though, I will admit that I expected Cyberlife to transfer me into a new body, rather than have me repaired.”

“They probably did. I just wanted to see if I could get you working again, rather than letting those disposal bots waste the components,” Hank explained, crossing his arms slowly. “Any critical failures I need to focus on first? 

“I’m registering damage to most of my biocomponents and hardware, but nothing that’s triggering a shut-down response,” the android answered indifferently, “Provided you have the right components going spare, a full repair should be a promising possibility.”

Hank watched as the faint glow of the LED dipped into yellow, blinking slightly as the RK800 scanned through his system. “Hey, you’ve already run diagnostics, what are you up to?”

The android looked up slightly, eyes finding Hank’s again (a weird habit for an android, they usually avoided direct eye contact when possible; something about not intimidating humans…) before he answered, “Apologies Lieutenant Anderson, I was running a search through the police records to see whether Emma Phillips had been injured.”

Ok, now that was new. 

“How the hell do you know my name?” he answered a little more sharply than he’d intended. 

“I have access to the Detroit Citizen Database… My facial recognition systems are registering you as Lieutenant Hank Anderson,”

“Fuckin’ A... “ Hank grumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Maybe waking this one up had been a mistake. “Alright well, no more of…” he gestured vaguely, “that. Just stay focused on your hardware until I can get you fixed up and out of my hair.” 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t mean to startle you… Would you like me to compile a list of my damaged components, sorted by urgency?”

“Sure. Whatever keeps you busy.”

Hank was starting to wonder whether this had been a good idea. The droid was purpose-built to work with the police, which meant that he’d have access to more information than Hank was comfortable with him having. Still, it seemed cruel to shut him down now, just because he’d been able to identify Hank from the database. He’d just have to be careful what he let slip around this one.


	3. Over-Sensitive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While working on Connor's sensory network, Hank starts to suspect that the android is capable of more than just passive participation

There was a loud click, followed by a muffled curse and Hank clenching his hand close to his chest. He could have sworn that he’d gotten more cuts and scars from fixing this damn android than he'd had in the entirety of his career. 

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” the android asked, skillfully programmed inflection making it sound like he might actually be worried.   
“Yeah, just caught my finger on the edge when it came loose,” Hank explained, checking over the fresh war wound. Nothing too serious, but it was in an awkward spot, so Hank suspected it would split every time he tried to clench his fist. “That should be the last of it though.”

Over the last few sessions with the RK800, Hank had carefully removed the shattered pieces of plating that framed the android’s torso, exposing the hardware and wires beneath. Hank hadn’t ever stripped an android back so far and the sight was a little concerning - the way it still moved and spoke, without any illusion of lungs or skin. What bothered him most were the eyes… they were too human, too perceptive. Besides, he hadn’t ever had to build an android back up from this state; he just hoped that he’d be able to get it back together again. Standing and moving around the work table, Hank picked up the spare RK200 chestplate he’d salvaged from a self-destructed android witness, measuring it up against his project’s torso. 

“You compatible with the RK200 stuff?” he asked. 

“I’m cross compatible with all RK unit parts, as well as a number of AC and CX components,” it confirmed, watching as Hank lined the chestplate up. 

He pressed down, leaning some of his weight into the action, until the chassis snapped into place; the cold unfeeling plastic instantly thrummed under his hands as it connected to the sensory system. He could hear it humming ever so slightly, like the barely audible rumble of a far off highway. There was a second sound, quiet and short-lived. But he’d heard it. Glancing up at the android’s features, Hank caught it in the motions of resetting its expression; he had caught the tail end of a moment, just glancing the last remnants of an expression he could almost recognise, but it had been taken away too quickly. 

“How’s that? Can you feel my hands?” he asked, trying not to let the android’s expression bother him. 

“Mmhm,” the RK800 answered, giving a small nod.

Hank frowned and examined the android’s pale, plastic features for more information. A part of him wished that the skin display was functioning, so he’d have a little more to work with. 

“Mmhm? That’s all you’ve got for me?” Hank asked, running a hand experimentally over the android’s new chestplate. “I said, can you feel my hand?”

Incredibly, the android’s expression faltered as Hank’s hand moved, relaxing into something calm and serene, “Yes, Lieutenant. I can feel your hands.”

“Well, alright then…” Hank replied, suddenly a little too warm in the clammy basement. He moved his hands away, pressing one to the back of his neck as he considered his next course of action. “Your arm shouldn’t need replacing, but I’m going to have to rewire the sensors. Think you can sit still long enough for me to hook it back up?”

The android smiled briefly before answering, “I can sit still for as long as you like.”

Hank nodded and got himself comfortable, leaning his weight on his elbows; one either side of the android’s defective left arm. He started at the shoulder, connecting the main lines to the new chestplate. At this angle, he was uncomfortably close to the android’s face; letting his hair act as a partial barrier to block out the attentive eyes of the RK800, Hank tried to keep his attention on the job. 

What the hell was coming over him? He’d worked on dozens of androids before, often having to hold them across his lap as he fixed a jaw or leaning in close to their faces to fix an eye socket… but this RK800 was making him nervous. It watched him too intently and reacted in ways that Hank wasn’t prepared for. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to stop working on it. He’d spent almost a week’s worth of evenings with the damn thing since he picked it up and he was only now getting to the main reconstruction work. After he’d gotten it back in one piece, he’d still have to help it recalibrate the new parts, check its responses and physical limits… maybe that was the problem. Maybe he’d wired it wrong… wouldn’t surprise him, considering he’d been drinking that night. 

A small gasp caught his attention and he sat up slightly, looking at Connor. “What’s wrong?” he asked, knowing that he couldn’t have hurt it. 

The android hesitated for a moment, its gaze falling on the space where Hank’s spare hand was supporting the weight of its arm. The smooth brow flickered a little lower, then rose to assume a nonplussed expression. “I wasn’t expecting the power connection… I felt it surge through my arm,” it answered, but the cadence was all off. It was lying. Which was worrying for a number of reasons:- the first of which being that Hank hadn't known that androids could lie. More importantly, he didn’t know why it would be lying in the first place. 

“Did it hurt?” Hank checked, turning the android’s arm slowly so that he could check the connection.

“No, androids can’t feel pain…” it hesitated, not quite meeting Hank’s gaze. “But I’m receiving a large amount of sensory feedback. I don’t know whether it's because the panelling isn’t calibrated or whether it’s because the sensors are damaged… but I can feel your fingers on my arm. Your hands are warm…it’s…. Pleasant.”

Pleasant. Since when could an android tell the difference between pleasant and non-pleasant touch? Well, except for those WR and BL pleasure models, he guessed but… a police android? He frowned slightly, running his free hand over the length of Connor’s forearm in a slow sweep. He didn’t know whether to laugh or drop the android’s arm completely when it saw its eyes close and heard the quiet appreciative hum. This was getting too weird. He should have just turned the damn thing off when it found out his name…

“Hank?” 

Oh, great, so it was Hank now. What happened to Lieutenant?

“What?” he answered shortly, palm still pressed firmly to the android’s arm. 

“Could you leave the sensors as they are for now? I think it might be helpful when I’m calibrating.”

Sure, and Hank thought whiskey might be good for his immune system. “...Fine, but you keep those hands where I can see them.”


	4. Whiskey Soothes the Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Hank falls of the wagon, and the landing can be real bumpy... Thankfully, he's got someone to help him get back up this time.

Cole’s birthday was always a hard time.

Three years was nothing and yet, it was everything. Three years of grieving and loss, three agonisingly long and lonely years without the sound of his boy running around the place. He missed the sound, as much as it had worried him when Cole was alive. The house was emptier than he had ever thought possible, no matter how much he might try to fill it with useless decorations and furniture - he could fill the entire space from floor to ceiling with boxes, and it would still be empty without his son’s laughter floating between the cracks.

By the time he finally found his way home at 3am, he couldn’t remember the alphabet, let alone his own address. He guessed Jimmy must have wrangled him into a cab and told the guy where to go. That, or Hank had gotten out without paying. Had he paid? He patted down his coat pockets for his wallet, heard the keys and remembered that he had to get inside. That was a whole ten minutes of fun… He never understood why they made keyholes so small and the keys so thin. All this technology in the world and had couldn’t just walk in with a hand-scan or something… He probably could, if he looked into it. But that would mean trusting a machine to keep his house safe, and the idea made him a little uncomfortable.

Stepping into the house, he shrugged off his coat and nearly fell straight back when sumo ran over to fuss at him. “Alright, Sumo. It’s alright…. Good dog…”

At least Sumo was here… Hank ran his fingers through the dog’s fur, scruffing it haphazardly as he kicked off his shoes. He remembered when Cole had been about that high… just tall enough that Hank could mess up his dark nest of curls and flicks. Just tall enough that he could still be lifted up and carried around while Hank mde airplane noises and stupid laser-gun noises. 

As soon as the first tear fell, a thousand rose up to join it. No amount of whining or distressed pawing from Sumo could force them back, no amount of whiskey in the world would numb the pain of the memories that kept stabbing at his chest. There was only hot, acrid despair, burning along his skin and searing his throat as he gasped for breaths between involuntary cries of helpless rage and loathing. 

And then a cool touch to his cheek, chasing away the fire for just a moment. 

“Hank?”

He looked up, breath shuddering and hiccuping as he tried to make sense of the shape. Pale and tall and unevenly balanced:- kneeling on one leg while the other tucked up against its chest, one arm hung limp at its side… and the other was pressed to Hank’s face, smooth fingertips trailing to his jaw. He leaned into it, terrified that if he didn’t hold on then the contact would go. That he’d be truly alone in this impossibly empty house. 

“Hank, I’m going to get you up and over to the couch. I can only use the one arm, so I’m going to need you to focus, ok?” 

He nodded his assent and braced himself against the wall for support before accepting the android’s hand. He was pulled up slowly, guided with dizzying steps to the sofa where he was allowed to collapse and curl in on himself. He focused on his breathing, trying to remember how long each breath should be, how heavy. It wasn’t long before the android came back, sitting beside Hank and pressing a glass of water to his lips. He hadn’t realised how thirsty he was, grasping the glass for himself and drinking deeply before it was pulled away.

“Not too much, you’ll throw up… wait a moment and you can have some more,” Connor’s voice was quiet and strained, different to the calm confidence he usually exhibited when they talked. He sounded worried. 

“How’d you get up here?” Hank mumbled, the words tripping over each other and mixing on his tongue. 

“You fixed my legs, remember? I know you told me to stay downstairs… but I could hear you and I was worried that you might need some help.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to feel annoyed or ashamed for having been caught in the middle of an emotional episode. He was too tired, too raw. He shifted his weight slightly and leaned against the android, the cool plastic alloy feeling nice on his too-warm skin. The arm that snaked around his shoulders with a reassuringly human weight didn’t feel too bad either. He closed his eyes and relied on the contact to keep him grounded while the world spun too quickly around them.

“It’s his birthday…” he managed to get out, distracting himself with another long drink of water. Bracing himself to have to explain and relive those moments when-

“I know.” Connor replied quietly, gripping Hank’s shoulder and drawing him into what felt like a hug, only lop-sided and uncertain. “I’m sorry, Hank.”

He knew. And somehow, that was a relief. No need to tell the whole story, no need to question his actions as he re-lived them in slow-motion. Connor knew what had happened and he was here… Hank put the glass on the table carefully, before sitting back and slowly guiding Connor onto his lap; looping an arm around the hard curve of his back and waist, just holding him, needing the weight and contact of another person to keep him from being swept out into that unbearable sea of isolation. Connor shifted and Hank loosened his grip hastily, sensing that he’d gone too far… but Connor adjusted his position and looped his operational arm around Hank’s shoulders, settling into the embrace.

“It’s ok, Hank. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” the android soothed, strong fingers teasing Hank’s hair back into some vague semblance of order. “You’re not alone anymore... I’ll be here for as long as you need me, for as long as you want me here.”

“You don’t really have much choice, huh?” Hank countered bitterly, knowing better than to think that the android genuinely wanted to be there. He hadn’t chosen this house, hadn’t chosen to stay with Hank, hadn’t even chosen to be reactivated. It had been Hank, selfishly occupying his time with androids - humanoid machines- to chase out the loneliness. This android would be just the same; fixed up, tested over and then sold back to Cyberlife or to some third party vendor… And it would probably be glad to go.

“Hank, look at me…”

The voice was gentle but firm, insistent. Hank sighed and leaned back slightly, letting his focus swim for a moment before it settled in on those eyes. Christ, a guy could get lost in eyes like those. Before he could get too distracted, Connor placed a hand on Hank’s cheek and kept their faces close.

“I don’t want to leave you. When I’m fixed and functional, I want to stay here, with you… I don’t have a mission anymore, I can’t access half of the data I’m supposed to be following and… and even if I could, that wouldn’t matter.” the dark eyes flickered between Hank’s briefly, before Connor leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “I feel safe with you. I don’t feel like I need to keep chasing targets and missions for the sake of my own existence… I don’t have to prove that I deserve to exist when I’m with you. Please… let me stay. Let me help to keep you safe. I can clean the house, or walk Sumo, or help you to fix other androids. Anything… Just let me stay here with you. Anywhere with you…”

Hank’s rough palm smoothed over Connor’s cheek, marvelling at the expression he wore. He was pleading for Hank to let him stay, like he genuinely wanted nothing more on this whole dark earth. He closed the gap between them briefly - soft, warm lips finding firm, pliant ones in return. He chuckled softly, struck with the ridiculousness of the whole thing. 

“Did I do it wrong?” Connor asked anxiously.

“No… no, you didn’t do anything wrong… But I’m very drunk, Connor. Help me to bed?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Can I stay with you while you rest? I want to make sure you don’t choke…”

“Sure… a little company might be nice.”


	5. A Heart of Gold and a Body of Warm Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets to see Connor in all of his humanoid glory... and what a firm, round glory that is.

When Hank woke the next morning, his head was pounding and his mouth tasted like copper. He groaned and curled in on himself slowly, feeling something smooth and cool against his thigh as he did so. Frowning, he let one eye slip open just a little, trying not to wake up so much that he wouldn’t be able to settle back into sleep - no such luck. The unexpected sight of Connor sat up in bed beside him surprised him enough to shake any thought of sleep from his agony-streaked brain. 

“Connor?” he murmured, running a hand through his own hair roughly. 

“Good morning, Hank. It’s 11:04am, weather is mild but a little windy… Here, I kept some water and painkillers on hand for when you woke up,” Connor answered quietly, careful not to let his voice grate on Hank’s sensitive existence. The android helped him to sit up slowly, handing him the painkillers and water and watching him dispatch them before placing the glass back on the side. “How do you feel this morning?”

“Like crap,” Hank answered, but the uncomfortable little motion that flickered of Connor’s face clued him in that he hadn’t meant the hangover. His thoughts ran back to the night before, the slow burn of shame adding to the nausea and lethargy… He remembered Connor comforting him, taking care of him, and the way the android had begged to stay. He couldn’t remember the exact words, could barely remember how they’d ended up on the couch on the first place, but he remembered those eyes - so desperate, so full of longing. Hank looked to Connor and raised an arm, gesturing for the android to lean in against him. “Come here... “

Connor hesitated for a moment, then shuffled closer and rested his weight against Hank’s side and chest, his functional arm resting over Hank’s stomach gently. He was delightfully cool against Hank’s too-warm skin, his weight reassuring somehow. Hell, when was the last time Hank had just held someone like this… just enjoyed the company of something other than his dog. Sure, Connor wasn’t strictly human, but he was a far sight closer than anything else that had shared Hank’s bed in the last 6yrs. Not for the first time, he wondered what the android would look like once they got the skin displays working… he wondered whether it would even make a difference. There was something about this android that he liked, something altogether too human to be ignored. This machine had emotions that he could believe in, or at least, emotions that he wanted to believe in. Christ, maybe he was going soft…

“I’m not sending you away, Connor.” he reassured, running rough hands over the smooth curve of the android’s back. “I’m going to get you fixed up, and then you’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you like. You won’t have to do anything like housework or...or whatever else androids are used for, not if you don’t want to… I don’t want you to stay here as my android. Do you understand? I want you to stay here as a companion. As a friend or… whatever this ends up being. I dunno. Forget that bit. I just…. I just mean that I want you to stay here with me because you enjoy being here. Not because you have to.”

Connor smiled slightly and leaned up to place a kiss to Hank’s cheek, the action displacing his beard slightly and causing a small tickle. Hank huffed a laugh and returned the action, targeting the tiny hollow of Connor’s temple - and then his cheek, a crooked finger pressing to the underside of the android’s chin and tilting his gaze up to meet the steel grey of Hank’s eyes. “You’re different, Connor. I’ve worked on dozens of androids, all sizes and models, but they all seem the same when I strip them down to their parts… that’s all they are. Parts and components. On a logical level, I know that you’re made of parts and components too, but there’s something more human hiding in there. I see it when I look into your eyes, or when you fuss about my health. You care. Not because you have to, but because you have empathy… At least, I hope so. Otherwise I really am losing it…” 

Connor sat up slightly and squared himself against Hank, pressing his chest flat to the detective’s so that their faces were only inches apart. The contact made Hank’s cheeks burn a little, suddenly too aware of the fact that he was only wearing boxers and an old band-shirt, while the android wore nothing at all. Maybe he should have given Connor clothes a lot sooner, though he reasoned that it would have made the maintenance a lot more difficult. Besides, he hadn’t expected to get so fucking flustered about a plastic companion. Maybe it had been longer than he realised since he’d been looked at like this. Way too long. He felt like a teenager again; all nerves and self-consciousness, while Connor seemed so calm. 

“Hank… I worry because I care about you. Not because I have to, but because you take care of me and I want to return the favour. I can help you to move forward from the things that haunt you. I want to.” Connor assured him, resting a pale hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I want to make you happy and I don’t want you to be alone anymore.”

The detective smiled and slipped his arms around Connor, turning their close proximity into something more like a hug, marvelling at the way he seemed to fit perfectly in the space between Hank’s arms and chest. “Then it’s settled,” Hank hummed against Connor’s shoulder, taking a moment to enjoy the contact. It was during that moment that he noticed the sound, the tiny whirr and click that floated from Connor’s torso. He frowned slightly and moved his arms lower, pressing firmly against the android’s backplate at different angles until he felt the click under his palm. 

“Hank, it’s ok. We can fix that later,” Connor smiled, resting his hand on Hank’s arm. 

But Hank was mapping out Connor’s interior workings in his mind, plotting out the parts and functions. That click was a power switch, clicking off and on in a loop whenever power ran over the circuit. Hank braced himself slightly, looked up to Connor, and pulled him closer. The android’s expression sharpened a little with concern, but then widened with surprise when a small pop signalled the switch clicking firmly into place. He hadn’t moved, but the surface of his face was a slow frenzy of activity - pale grey and white blurring into a warm tone, eyebrows filling in the space above his warm brown eyes; Hank watched in amazement as small details decorated the expanse of his newly reactivated skin - a collection of freckles and moles, the soft textured pink of his lips, a neatly designed stock of dark hair, and skin so soft that Hank couldn’t help but marvel at the unblemished expanse of it. 

“Wow... “ Hank uttered quietly, taking in the sight of him. “And you’re a looker to boot. I guess I lucked out.”

Connor looked at his functioning arm and hand, touching his now-soft fingertips to his own cheek before smiling. “You fixed my skin display… Do you like my design?” he asked, perfectly aligned pearly teeth flickering into view as he tried a hesitant smile. 

“I’ve got to admit, Connor, as androids go you’re pretty damn cute. Christ, they even gave you the cutest little mole by here,” Hank responded, running his thumb over the delicate sweep of Connor’s nose. The resulting expression left him breathless- Connor scrunched his nose slightly against the touch, newly formed brows furrowing for a moment before melting into a smile. Hank could have stayed there for hours, watching the way his expression changed and shifted, the entirely human quirks he seemed to have. He’d never seen an android grasp such complex movements on such a small scale, had never seen one who would have thought to wink. Wait, why was he winking? 

“So, should I hold off on getting dressed?” Connor asked, and Hank would be damned if there wasn’t something almost sarcastic in his tone.

He didn’t have time to consider that, given that his blood was fighting for space in his cheeks. It was suddenly very difficult to look at Connor’s face, his gaze desperately pulling downwards. Not that it would have mattered. Would it? Would Connor mind him looking? No, stop it. Don’t be a pervert just… 

“Ah, oh! Yeah. Clothes... “ Hank cleared his throat loudly, looking fixedly at the wardrobe. “I left your uniform downstairs, it was in pretty bad shape. But you’re welcome to borrow whatever you like from the wardrobe…”

Connor’s mouth twisted slightly in the corner, stifling a grin, before he edged himself over to the side of the bed and stood. “No peeking, Lieutenant.”

Yeah, right. Hank tried, he really did try… but a few quick glances got by when he lost concentration. And suddenly it was very difficult to look away. He was perfect:- his posture, his proportions, the scattered freckles along his shoulders, and who in Cyberlife had thought to give the Police Android an ass that pert?! He couldn’t watch for long; Connor pulled on a pair of Hank’s old joggers and a particularly large t-shirt that swamped his slender shoulders. This little twink was going to be the end of him, he sweared to God… 

“How do I look?” Connor asked, taking his place on the edge of the bed. 

“Like my best dream, or my worst nightmare… I haven’t quite decided.”


	6. Not A Chapter, I Need Your Feedback!

Thanks everyone!!! 

I think we're gonna stick to fluff and I'll post NSFW as a separate fic if folks wanna look at those another time :D 💙💙


	7. A Lesson in Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor learns that patience can yield some very pleasant results  
> (This was originally going to be filthy..... but now contains a surplus of fluff and perhaps even a first kiss ;p)

“Sit still,” Hank ordered, his tone low and firm. He didn’t have to raise his voice too much, not with Connor’s face only a few inches away from his own. He could see every small twitch, every curved edge of his expressions.

“But it tickles,” Connor countered, his lips ticking momentarily into a smile before he managed to hide it. 

“Is that right?” Hank responded, keeping his tone very carefully unimpressed. He just had to finish rewiring that arm without getting too distracted, or he’d never get this damn android up and functioning. It didn’t help when the devious little prick insisted on straddling his lap and squirming every time Hank moved a wire. Why had he allowed him to sit like that? 

_Because it felt good_ \- the thought came to him instantly, affection mixing with a little shame. It had been a long time since he’d felt comfortable having someone so close, but Connor seemed to slip a little further through his defenses every time he looked away. It had started with the brief embraces whenever Connor moved past him, then a few quickly stolen kisses to his cheek, to the corner of his mouth. The android always lost his nerve and bailed before giving a real kiss, and Hank was happy to take what he was given. Truth be told, he was enjoying the slow progress, it gave him time to adjust to this strange new environment. Clean and tidy, occupied with another person who filled the silence when he came home from work. More often than not, Connor had cooked by the time he got home and they would talk while Hank ate… it was comfortable. It felt right.

“If you keep squirming around, I can’t finish your arm, Connor. I meant to get this fixed up last week but... “ the thought trailed off. _But he had gotten distracted by Connor_. “Don’t you want it fixed?”

“I can manage without it,” the android shrugged, but there was a familiar mischief in his gaze. He wanted his arm fixed, but he wanted to get something out of Hank in the process if he could. “But I’d be much more effective at offering hugs if I had both...so, really, I believe the fixing of my arm is mainly beneficial for you.”

“For me, huh?” Hank smirked, putting down the screwdriver so he could pay full attention to his partner. “Alright, I’ll bite. What game are you playing?”

“It’s not a game, Hank. It’s a compromise.” Connor corrected, and Hank couldn’t tell if the flutter in his chest was excitement or dread. “If I sit perfectly still, what will I get in return?” 

“What do you mean? You get a fully functioning arm and I won’t be distracted, so you’ll get my full attention.” Hank looked him over, expression hovering between curiosity and amusement. “Besides, the last I heard, androids got a kick out of doing what their told. So really, this is a win win for you.”

Connor raised a brow, taking a moment to analyse the comment before realising that Hank was teasing him. Still, it was an angle he could work with. “That’s true of operational androids who have a functioning feedback system. Not for androids who have been rewired and can’t connect to their mission objective processors…As it stands, I don’t get any satisfaction from completing a given task. Granted, you could command me to act, and I would have to act on those orders eventually. But I might not be so quick to co-operate if I don’t feel rewarded.”

“You know, I could just walk away and _not_ fix your arm.”

“You could,” he agreed, but the restless motion at the corner of his mouth told Hank that there was more to that sentence, “Or, I could sit very still for you while you fix my arm. And then, I could choose a reward that benefits both of us.”

“Like what?”

Hank’s mouth had gone dry by this point, the tip of his tongue running over his lower lip as he watched Connor’s body language, daring him to come right out and say it. Say what? He didn’t know, not for certain, but he had some ideas of his own that he wouldn’t mind suggesting. This wasn’t the first time the android had tried to play on his physical needs for the sake of leverage, though it was definitely the first time he’d seen something familiar in Connor’s eyes - something like desire. Maybe he’d been too far away before, maybe he hadn’t paid enough attention to Connor’s expression when he cuddled in against his side or lingered a little longer in the mornings when Hank was still hazy with sleep, more open to intimacy and gentle touches. 

Letting his hand lower slowly from Connor’s shoulder, running against the skin of his chest and stomach, Hank could feel the way his pulse quickened. He could feel the micro-adjustments of Connor’s posture and the way he leaned into the touch just slightly, just enough to put his point across. When Hank dared to meet his eyes again, he found that Connor’s were hooded and far too bright. 

“Well, with both of my arms functioning, I’ll be much more effective at holding you close... “ Connor’s voice softened and faded out, his intended suggestion disappearing as he recalculated the risks. Hank watched as his confidence waned, his perfect teeth worrying at his lower lip as he tried to make sense of what he wanted. Hank decided to help him out a little.

“Tell you what… for every minute you sit still, I’ll reward you with a kiss,” he suggested, running the fingers of his free hand up over Connor’s cheek. “You can decide whether you want them after every minute, or whether you want to save them up for the end.”

Connor smiled softly, leaning in to press his forehead to Hank’s. It was these moments, these tranquil little pockets of intimate connection, that Hank wouldn’t give up for the world. As much as Connor could talk a big game and found his fun in teasing Hank, in pushing his patience until he gave in… he was still learning to love. He had been designed to hunt down his own kind, to remain uninvolved in emotional situations for the best outcome… and yet. He had learned to trust Hank almost immediately and Hank couldn’t help but return the sentiment. Hank had loved before, had lost before. In a way, that was easier;he knew exactly how painful the outcome could be. He had lived through it and he’d moved on, so he knew that he could do it again if it came to it. But Connor was still learning to identify his emotions, still putting names to frantic urges and conflicting needs. Hank could see that Connor wanted intimacy, wanted to develop what they had cultivated in the last week or so...but he was scared to jeopardise his newfound emotional mission. Risks were a calculable measurement for Connor, Hank couldn’t begin to imagine how intimidating that must be. _Kiss Hank - 57% chance of negative outcome._ What a life it must be for an android… so dreadfully certain of the statistics. It was for that reason that he didn’t mind extending a hand to hold, something to guide Connor through his uncertainties. In time, he hoped that Connor would feel more open to risks, that he would enjoy the thrill of the unknown and damn anyone who told him to be careful. He got the feeling Connor would be unstoppable if he allowed himself to dismiss the risks. 

“That’s not a bad reward,” Connor smiled gently, adjusting his seating so that he’d be able to sit still without discomfort. “But I’d like to add a caveat.”

“How romantic,” Hank teased, rubbing noses with Connor to reassure him. “What else?”

“I get to give you just as many in return.”

A small huff of laughter passed between them before Hank kissed Connor’s delicate nose. “You have a deal, now sit back a little and let me finish.”

Connor did as he was told, holding still as Hank worked on the loose wiring. He counted the first minute out in his head, waiting to see if Connor would demand his reward each minute. But a minute came and went, Hank’s strong fingers working carefully on the delicate wires and sockets. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but the anticipation seemed to mount with each minute, pushing him to work faster so that he could share that moment with Connor… but a more calculating part of his mind suggested that he keep his work slow, let Connor stew on the excitement for a little longer than was strictly necessary. When it came to the last connection, Hank sat back a little and took his time, examining the port, checking the end of the wire to make sure enough copper was exposed. A small smirk grew over his lips when Connor’s gaze followed, the corners of his perfect mouth pinching inwards until he was practically pouting.

“Stop teasing,” Connor demanded quietly. 

“Teasing? I’m just making sure the wire is working,” Hank countered, almost grinning now.

The LED at Connor’s temple ran yellow for a moment, “There, I ran a diagnostic. It’s fine.”

Hank looked at him, catching Connor’s chin between his thumb and forefinger so he could tip his gaze up, testing his compliance. “Such a petulant partner…” he let his voice fall into a husky lower range as he completed the task of attaching the wire. He tore his gaze away just long enough to fully secure Connor’s arm, then he pulled him close. 

“What do I owe you?” he asked, splaying his fingers over Connor’s smooth exposed back.

“Seven minutes and 23 seconds. So that’s 8 kisses,” he rounded up. Hank noticed.

“Alright...one.” he placed a kiss to Connor’s nose, holding back a laugh when Connor frowned. “Two…” this one landed on Connor’s forehead. Three and four went to each cheek. Five to his temple. Six to the gentle curve of Connor’s jaw. Seven was planted on the very edge of Connor’s mouth… “Eight.”

He leaned in and claimed Connor’s mouth, gently parting his lips as a hand drifted up into his perfectly neat hair. The small sound that drifted from his partner was worth any amount of teasing, any number of compromises. He sat back slightly, his heart swelling when he realised that Connor had closed his eyes...christ, if this guy got any cuter, Hank would have to start assuming that someone had designed him specifically for his own tastes. He cupped Connor’s cheek and granted him an extra kiss, just for the hell of it. 

“Worth the wait?” 

Connor’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled, a tiny hint of a dimple emerging on the left side, “Definitely… ready for the kisses I get to give in return?”

“Oh, I suppose,” Hank answered with false exasperation.

He had planned on adding a final comment before submitting to another dose of Heaven, but Connor had apparently had enough to waiting for one day.


End file.
